


Swallow Your Pride (And Say You're Sorry)

by breadknee



Series: 5+1 Irondad Works [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, does this count as whump, stephen comes in to diffuse the situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadknee/pseuds/breadknee
Summary: Tony Stark has spent his whole life saying shitty things. He should've known he would hurt Peter too.





	Swallow Your Pride (And Say You're Sorry)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this 5+1 at 10pm on a random Saturday night, with literally no inspiration until I started. This is also my first 5+1, so feel free to give me tips for future ones! I hope you enjoy this fic, and don't be too harsh on Tony, alright? He's gone through a lot in the MCU, and sometimes people DO lash out at those they don't want to hurt. It happens. You need to understand the story from all angles.

**One**

“Get out of my lab.” 

It comes out harsh. Tony knows it does, god, he _knows_ it did, but he doesn’t open his mouth to apologize. The expression on Peter’s face is one of pure shock. You’d think he had smacked the kid across the face. Actually, it probably was just like that. 

“But, Mr. Stark, I thought we were working on my suit today. You _promised_ \--” 

“I don’t care, kid. Get out and take your stupid cookies with you.” Peter drops his gaze to the crinkled bag of Oreos he brought to share with Tony and his throat tightens. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong. 

“It’s Wednesday, we always work on it on Wednesdays after school--” Tony swirls around the whiskey in his glass, silent. He might be a little drunk. _You’re a pretty mean drunk, Tones,_ Rhodey once said. Maybe he is. 

“Get out of my workshop, Spider-kid. Once you’ve earned my time, then we can work on the suit.” He flashes him a cold stare. Peter flinches slightly. His heart sinks into his stomach and draws up bile as the alcohol threatens to send him another ‘fuck you.’ Guilt makes his shoulders slump over protectively. God, he’s such a fucking asshole. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean to--”

“Why can’t you just _leave_?” His voice rises and he knows it. Dreads it, even, but he’s already done too much damage. He might as well just finish the job, kick the kid out of his lab, and settle on the floor with a cold bottle of vodka to drink himself into oblivion. 

Peter feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach. His mentor, idol, and _friend_ was being so cruel. Why? What did he do? He anxiously stuffs his Ziploc bag of Oreos into his schoolbag and squeezes the strap tightly. His mouth opens to ask why, and he knows he shouldn’t, shouldn’t push Mr. Stark any further, but he needs to know. To know why he’s suddenly being so cruel. 

“Why?” Tony closes his eyes against the broken tone the question carries. Clenches his teeth to stop the alcohol from replying. Gets up and pours himself another glass. He idly stands and sips the drink, the alcohol burning as it slides down his throat. 

The door shuts softly as Peter leaves.

**Two**

“You don’t deserve your suit.”

Peter looks up from his spot on the curb, hesitating. A bloodied rag is pressed against his busted upper lip. His entire body aches as he lowers his hand to respond to his mentor. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’ll be more careful.” Tony’s piercing gaze isn’t moved by his words, so he tries harder. Stumbles over his words in an attempt to explain. “I was just trying to help you catch the shooter--”

“And almost got yourself shot in the process.” Peter flinches. “You could’ve died, and it would’ve been on _me_ , Pete. What would May think if I had to drop your body off tonight?” The kid licks the blood still dripping from his lip, ignoring the sting it brings. He’s quiet as Tony continues his lecture. “You can barely control yourself around basic criminals. Did you even _think_ before launching yourself into a terrorist battle?”

“Sir, I just wanted to help you and the other Avengers--” 

“We had it under control,” Tony cuts him off, cold. “You should’ve just stayed in Queens and helped old ladies cross the street, kid. We didn’t need your help. In fact, you let the guy get away.” Peter lowers his eyes to stare at his feet, which still ache from the impact of dropping several stories. The guy had shoved him out the window, and he luckily had the sense to drop to his feet. Tingles make their way up his ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats softly. “I’m sorry, sir.” Tony turns to lean heavily on the railing of the roof they’re currently standing on. He’d had to pick Peter up before he got crushed by a building, so he conveniently dropped them several blocks away from the fight. Steve told him twenty minutes ago that they’d lost the shooter. “Sir?”

“I’m taking you home.” Tony steps back from the edge of the building and lets his mask fall over his face. Peter stands slowly, ignoring the throbbing in his body, and pulls his own mask over his head. 

Twelve minutes later, Peter is dropped off at his house with a worried Aunt May and no words from his mentor. Tony leaves without a second glance. 

**Three**

“Did you really think you could be an Avenger?” Steve turns and flashes Tony a surprised look. Bruce awkwardly stands up to escape the tension weighing in the air. Peter’s grip tightens on the mask in his hand, feet shuffling against the floor of the compound. “Really, kid?”

“Tony,” Steve interjects. It earns him a hand to the face as Tony moves to stand in front of Peter. He folds his arms and frowns down at the kid. 

“Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to offend you--”

“No, kid, you really need to stay out of the way when we’re doing missions. What do you do, jump out the school bus every time you sense some trouble? Throw yourself into it and expect us to pick up the pieces?” Peter’s teeth snap together as he swallows an apology. It won’t get him anywhere to say anything to his mentor right now. “You’re a kid. Act like it.” 

“Stark, you seriously need to calm down.” Stephen steps away from his place on the wall, moving to stand next to Peter, who really looks like he’s going to either puke or burst into tears at any moment. He may not like children, but he wasn’t going to sit around and let Stark verbally assault one right in front of him. “He’s a kid, like you said. Do you frequently attack children?”

Tony shifts to fix his gaze on the doctor, eyes tight. “Stay out of this, Strange.”

“Why? To let you fuck with a kid?”

“No, I’m trying to teach him a lesson.” 

“What lesson? The ‘I’m a cool superhero and you’re not good enough for me’ lesson?” Tony’s lip curls angrily and he drops his arms to ball his hands into fists. 

“Are you really trying to fight with me right now, _doctor_?” He spits the title out in disgust. Stephen doesn’t react to the words, simply shrugging flippantly. 

“You’re practically ripping him to shreds.” This makes Tony glance at Peter, feeling the guilt claw up his throat at the broken look on the kid’s face. Peter’s jaw is tightened, throat bobbing as he tries to swallow the tears probably burning his eyes. 

Tony is practically making the kid cry in front of his idols. The Avengers. God, he fucked up big time. Steve has the courtesy to drag the other members out of the room after he notices Peter try to hide his face from them. They all shoot glares at Tony as they leave. He deserves it. He really, really deserves it. 

Stephen seems to realize that Tony’s stopped his assault on Peter and steps away, but the look of disgust on his face is enough. Tony sinks his teeth into the side of his cheek as he tries to think of anything to say to the kid. To make up for what he’s said. Nothing comes to mind, so he just half-heartedly drops his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Go home, kid.” He does.

**Four**

“You’re not a superhero.” 

One glance at Peter after he says this earns him a pierce through the heart. He shouldn’t have said it, but he’ll be damned before the kid gets himself killed trying to play superhero. Still, the guilt creeps its way up his throat. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Peter speaks up first.

“Then what am I, Mr. Stark?” Peter’s hand raises half-heartedly, and he brushes away his unruly curls with a pinched expression. Bruises litter the side of his face, and Tony bets there’s a huge one on his ribcage after the fall he took. His Spider-Man suit is torn in random places, as if the captors were trying to see how much fun it would be to destroy a multi-million dollar suit. 

“A kid. You’re a fucking kid, and you’re not going to swing around New York trying to protect everyone every night.” His breath catches in his throat. He really can’t stop ripping into the kid tonight, can he? 

“Then what’s the _point_ of having powers?” Peter’s voice rises in the dark lab. Tony has half a mind to flip on a light switch, wincing at the assault on his eyes. Both literally and figuratively. The bruises blossoming on the kid’s skin are darker now than they were an hour ago. “To just… protect myself?”

“That’s _exactly_ the point!” Tony slams his hand on the worktable with exasperation, leaning down to rest his elbows on it and grip his hair with one hand. “You’re not a superhero, you’re a kid with nifty powers that could be used to protect _yourself_!” Peter flinches at the bitterness in his mentor’s tone. 

He shouldn’t have gone after the drug dealers, maybe, but he was trying to _help --_ to stop people from hurting others. He just wants to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man that makes people feel better about living in Queens. Why keep power to himself? Mr. Stark’s words echo over and over in his head, and he feels his chest tighten with hurt. _You’re not a superhero._

Then what is he? He doesn’t want to keep power to himself. That’s what villains do. Or, he thinks they do. He hasn’t really met a villain yet. 

Who _is_ a superhero then?

“Kid,” Tony breaks through his thoughts, his voice tight, “go home.” Peter presses his lips together, throwing his bag over his shoulder and ignoring the way it makes pain spread through his sore body. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” He opens the door and pauses. He almost doesn’t say anything else. Then, “See you tomorrow.” The door shuts with a click. 

Tony drops his head into his hand and curses himself. 

**Five**

“You’re not my kid.” 

The words shoot out like hot venom. Venom that sinks into Peter’s flesh and curls around his heart as he hopelessly stares at his mentor for an explanation. “What-- Mr. Stark, sir, what did I--”

Tony barely looks up from his tinkering. An Iron Man suit lays in pieces on the worktable as he dismantles it to look for the faulty components and replace them. It’s one of his original suits, and he’ll be damned before he lets the thing die on him after so many years. “You’re not my kid, that’s all.” He fixes a panel on the breastplate, wiping his greasy hands on the tar-tinted rag slung over his right shoulder. 

“I know that, sir.” Peter swallows back questions, knowing he won’t get answers. 

“Then why do you prance around like I’m your father? You’re always following me around, asking me questions, and practically begging for my attention.” The words sting. Tony knows they do. But he can’t have Peter walking around and calling him ‘dad.’ He wouldn’t father any child, no matter who they are, because it’ll just be terrible for the kid. To have Tony’s image smearing over every achievement they do, to have the press constantly hounding them for attention. He won’t do that to a kid, any kid, even if the words stick to his throat like cotton. 

Peter doesn’t reply, the screwdriver in his hand twisting over and over in his hands. 

“I’m not your dad, kid.” 

“Then why do you call me ‘kid?’” Tony’s hands still on a scratched up plate as he works to reply. 

“Because you are one, aren’t you?”

“I’m almost an adult.”

“You’re fifteen. That’s basically a baby.” He’s trying to cover up the sting of his words with jokes, to ease the tension in the room, but he can tell Peter’s worrying on the inside of his cheek. “I’m just telling you that you aren’t. My kid, that is.” He swallows awkwardly, throat dry. “I’m just a mentor, got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter stops twirling the screwdriver around and sets it clumsily on the table. “Is it alright if I leave early, Mr. Stark? I promised I would be home earlier for dinner.” Tony knows it’s a lie. A bad one, too. He knows it is because Peter had suggested they just eat greasy pizza and watch the _Star Wars_ marathon airing on TV tonight. Tony was looking forward to it all day, to have that small moment of domesticity, but he’s gone and fucked that up, hasn’t he? 

If there was a definition to describe Tony Stark, it would be ‘fucked up’ in every sense of the word. 

“Yeah.” Hurt filters through his tone, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, kid. Tell May I said ‘hey,’ alright?” Peter sends him a small, hurt smile as he swings his bag onto his shoulder. Tony ignores the tears he sees tinting the kid’s eyes red, because it would just make it _worse_ to talk about it. To talk about feelings and why Tony can’t accept him as a kid. To talk about, well, Tony. Everything about him. 

“See you on Wednesday, Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly, slipping past his mentor as he practically flies from the room. Tony lets his hand rest on the plate a few moments longer, letting the guilt sink into his bones. 

He picks up Peter’s screwdriver, turning it in his hand, and yanks out another part. 

**\+ One**

“I’m sorry.” Peter hesitates at the door, his bag slipping off his shoulder. Tony is sitting on the couch, facing Peter, with a can of coke resting at his feet. At least he’s not intoxicated this time.

“Sir?” He’s pretty sure he must’ve missed some important part of the conversation, or walked in while Mr. Stark was on the phone.

“Pete,” Tony says running a hand across his face, “I’m so sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“Everything I’ve said to you these past months.” Peter slowly moves to sit down next to his mentor, his hands in his lap. What do you say when your mentor is apologizing? “I took so much out on you. Fuck, I’m sorry, kid.” 

“‘S okay, Mr. Stark. I know you didn’t mean it.” 

“That’s the problem. I _did_ mean it, at the time.” Peter falls silent, listening to Tony confess. “I meant all the mean shit I said to you and it’s been eating at me for months. You didn’t deserve that. Any of that. I shouldn’t have told you to get out of the lab. Or that you didn’t deserve your suit after that terrorist attack. Or that you aren’t a superhero. You _are_ a superhero, kid. A damn good one too.” 

Peter wrings his hands, mulling over what to say. He knows he didn’t deserve what Mr. Stark told him. Of course he didn’t. But he also knows he’s been careless, pushy, and irresponsible towards Mr. Stark. He knows he hasn’t listened to his mentor’s advice. Didn’t care about the consequences. He might not have deserved what was said, but he did deserve to be lectured. Mr. Stark was just trying to look out for him. 

“And,” Tony suddenly says, snapping Peter out of his wondering, “you are my kid. Maybe not biologically, but you’re still my kid.” His mentor drops his hands, turning his body to look at Peter fully. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark.” When Tony opens his mouth to protest, he pushes on. “Maybe I didn’t deserve what was said, but I was being irresponsible. I didn’t listen to you, and you were just trying to protect me.” Anxiety is making his hands sweat, so he wipes them discreetly on his jeans. “I’ll listen more.”

“I have a lot to make up to you, kid. I’ve said a lot of shit.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to forgive me, either. It’s probably better you didn’t. I can’t promise I won’t say something like that again. I will, actually.” Peter nods. 

“I know. It’s fine, Mr. Stark.” Tony presses his lips together, as if he’s fighting the urge to protest more. “You can make it up to me.” Peter’s eyes glint with mirth. “By letting me work on my suit again.” This earns him a Tony Stark Eye-Roll. 

“Got any more Oreos in that bag of yours?” Tony’s lips curl slightly into a smile. His shoulders drop a bit in relief, and Peter notes the way his hands clasp together anxiously. 

“I always bring snacks.” 

“Good.” Tony stands up and runs his hand through Peter’s curls, ruffling it gently. “Come on. Grab a few drinks from the fridge, yeah?”

Peter gathers up his bag, Oreos, and pulls out a coke and root beer from the fridge. Tony cracks open his new can of coke and takes a large sip, analyzing how much work is left to be done on Peter’s new flight thrusters. Peter sits down and rests his chin on his hand, watching F.R.I.D.A.Y. project the blueprint with a grin. 

“Let’s get to work.”


End file.
